A Simper and a Smile
by hanatarou
Summary: This is just a story for the world to relate to given through the eyes of an average thirteen year old girl. It's nothing special, it's just life.
1. Perfect morning

**Note: **this story will probably have a lot of notes in it and most likely will have 'inappropriate' content for children ten and under. For the sake of those 'innocent' minds, this book will be G-rated and I refuse to use the actual word said. Either what is being spoken will be replaced or have a random outbreak in paranthesis saying (G-RATED!). Kay? Cool, let's go on...

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8th grade was never meant to be fun (yet what school year is?). It's just another routine. One to fall asleep to and to occasionally laugh at the overdramatic twats making their own life abnormally hard. Jacked up, I know. The point is, all 8th grade is good for would be a really long yawn. If my friends didn't exist because on the first day of school everyone was sucked into a swirling vortex that mysteriously appeared out of the sky, I would never make it through the seven nearly wasted hours of a bright, sunny day. I've got a lot to thank them for...

First off, there's Aimee. She's the first person I see every day (normally) and has been best friends with me for a two short years. She and I met in the most abnormal way two friends could meet. Aimee came up to me a year before we would ever talk again and told me that I looked like Hermione (which I don't!) and in all truth, I was minorly scared of her. I really didn't want to talk to her ever again. But once I did,we were best friends in a day. (note: I really dislike the usage of 'best friend' because it seems to single out one friend among every other friend I have. I love all of my buddies equally and we're all just as close as we are with anyone else.) She introduced me to Krystal, which I can't tell you how happy I am that she did. There's only a few defects in Aimee's personality: her obsessinons of Tim Painter, Hayden Christensen, and unwillingly given high-pitched squeaks.

After the brief ten minutes before the bell rings, spent yelling and making Aimee laugh, on my good days I'd go to 2nd hour: art. Art is my life...along with my other lifes. I consist of three and a half people: I'm half art, half reading, half anime, half baseball, half writing, half Bowling for Soup, and half British. To make everything phenomenal, the art teacher-Mrs. Frausto-is one of the frickin' sweetest teachers this world is doomed to see. I also share the class with some of my other close friends. Sam, Sam, and Katie.

Sam number one is a horse fanatic. We've been friends since 6th grade when our insignificant minds thought we were mature. At least now we're mature enough to see that we're immature. Art is usually the class where Sam begs me to help with her grammar (note: 'help' in 8th grade vocabulary means to give one the answers). I always just smirk and pretend like I'm not going to. At the end of the class period, her assignment is completely finished. and she gets an A (hehehe).

Sam number two is an anime freak, and dude, I love her for it. She's such an awesome person whose 'spaz' is triggered by the taste of cheese. Sam has a huge talent for art (it would Davinci chuck down the Mona Lisa and pout in a corner) not to meantion writing. -at the moment I am constantly being pulled into thoughts of what the heck is gonna happen next in her book- Nicholas Sparks would be begging for an autograph if he read her work. She's a genius. I owe her my life too for introducing me to InuYasha, a brilliant masterpiece which I am desperately in love with.

Katie is a nut, spaz, and comedian rolled into one pleasant little corndog shaped muffin that people like to stare at. She's a master glomper (note: the word 'glomp' means for someone to quietly run up behind you and jump on your back making you scream your bloody head off) and the only one who can stand up to the power of the Mishou (you'll understand in due time). Katie holds the same talent for writing and art at the same level scale as Sam number two and I recenetly discovered that she's good- really good -at photography. I'm not sure how often she does it, but it's all so pretty...Katie's other strong gift is to make people laugh. She's definitely one of the most hilarious people I know.

I consider this the perfect way to start my day. You're probably thinking 'Oh, what a crappy way to start a book.' You know what I say to that: Shut up. Continuing on, the final bell rings, declaring our freedom as students, but everyone's to bored and mildly tired to celebrate. I go under that category as well only I'm really asleep as I leave my seat to go to my locker, stuff my backpack with a bunch of crap- a.k.a. homework -and wait by the door. On special days, Aimee won't ride the bus and wake me up with an enormously loud and annonying squeak. Now, my feelings are screwed up. Am I happy that my only transportation pulled up in the circle drive or should I feel like I'm approaching my death as my disgustingly dirty, blue piece-o-crap van just came to get me? It'll all be decided in due time...


	2. The road trip

As I walked to the blue tradgedy of a mini-van, I couldn't help but sigh. I'd have to put up with _them_ again. Not saying I don't love and cherish my family of four sisters, four brothers, and two parental figures, just...hehe...they can give the world a migrane. You can't walk anywhere on our forty acres that you won't hear their screams and cries of "dying pain" and yelling over the stupidest things in the entire flippin' world! If that isn't one hundred percent headache, please, deny and give me a perfect example.

Anyways, so once I situate myself all snuggly and comfy in the back of the...car...I put on my headphones and make a desperate attempt to listen to my abnormally satisfying Japanese music. High and Mighty Color if you must know. That's when my brother (NOT step) will give me a random comment on his school day that will give me a garaunteed smile.

I love Bryn; the commenter. He's me little brother. I've grown into the habit of calling him 'otouto-chan' just to let the world know that he's my teeny brother. Bryn's the kind of person that tears your feelings apart. One minute you can't stand him and want to chuck his head into the atlantic ocean and the next you can't live without him. I can never really be mad at him. I feel terrible when I do. Before the most recent Christmas holiday, I never really paid attention to him. When my idol (my BEST sister in the whole world) left the house the whole vacation, and me and Brynny were the only ones in the house while parental figures were gone on a road trip, I realized just how much I did love him. I've tried to appreciate him more after that. I don't want to just forget my little brother again.

Continuing on, while I'm sitting all relaxed and what not, while Bryn is going on with making me laugh, Bret, a stepbrother and younger, will chime in. Bryn will roll his eyes and I'll gently hit my otouto-chan and tell him, "Shut up, Bret's the cutest thing in the world" or at least give him a look that says that.

That's really all that can be said of Bret. The cutest thing in the world. Nutball and cretive genius probably fit in there too. I think everyone I set my gaze upon has a talent for art, 'cuz Bret's headed there too. His mind goes farther than possibilities and to the point where you can't breathe of excess genius. And he's only seven...I'm almost scared for his future.

The drive seems to take forever. It likes its own road trip. I don't really enjoy it all that much. In all truth, it's boring. Brynny and Bret make iti a titch better, until I begin to feel carsick. That's usually when we turn on to our personal roller coaster; Pumpkin Vine Rd. It swirls and swishes in such a way to make one puke. You grow use to it after a while but still...it's nausia on a stick. The ride takes around six minutes, depending on how fast you go, and then we arrive. Down a steep hill where the small country home sits. My dream home. This is where my story begins.


	3. Just got home

Instantly the car doors whip open and everyone seems to hop out of the car as if it were about to blow up. It kinda makes me want to laugh but then I realize that I'm doing it too and that snicker backfires.

The minute you step into my home, if you had never before set foot in it, an unusual smell takes over and you'll become entranced. That, friends, is the smell of good cooking. My stepmother, Amy, is the best chef in the world. It's like eating at a five star resturaunt every day when we get home. The food's set out on the table and everyone's anxious for food. Now that I think about it, maybe this is the subconsious reason for everyone's desperate escape from the van.

Immediately, I head to my room to put my backpack away and kick off my overly disgusting shoes in my open closet and quickly close the door. I tried conducting an experiment where I would make a shoe that would never smell. Never. I had done it before. It had lasted for three days...then someone stole it. Anyway, so once I tried again, the experiment turned on me and began to absorb my f.o. (note: I thought b.o. couldn't be used for my feet so I made f.o. foot odor). Now the smell is unbearable. Really unbearable. Excessive shudders can't begin to describe the amount of twitching that goes on when you take in the slightest whiff of my disgusting tennis shoe.

Now, dinnertime. I take the few steps over the pile of who knows what (not important enough to all be named) to my door and leave my peaceful room out to the unpredictable house I'm proud to call home.

"What is it?" I asked to absolutely no one, just hoping that someone would answer the question (note: In my life, most questions aren't directed to anyone and I usually assume someone's going to answer my question). As expected, my dad did answer.

"Puttai," he responded in a monotone voice. My dad usually has a lot of energy and, though forty, holds all the charateristics of a college student. When my mom died three years back, he grew his hair out long and no one recognized him when we went to the next family reunion. Amy cut it short, which I'm a titch bitter about, and now he looks twenty-nine. Still... He not only looks like my brother, but he feels like one too. Teenagers are supposed to hate their parents. I love them beyond reason. I guess you could say I'm weird because of that-I say I'm normal. (Isn't 'normal' doing the right thing?)

"Ooh," I quickly let out. I love puttai. For that matter, I love any Thai food, just not curry. I avoid the curry at all costs. It tastes funny. It's all bluh.

James will come over at this point and look in the pot to see what we're eating and ask, "Will I like this?". The usual response is 'yes'. But that's what everyone says when they want someone to eat a meal.

James is different. He can find danger in anything. He's not as 'adventurous' as he once was, but he still has ADHD. There isn't a soul in the school who doesn't think he's awesome. I'd have to agree. We use to be friends. Then my family moved to Wyoming and we no longer talk. I still think he's a great person. He's pretty nice too. Too bad he has 'loudness' issues...

I usually eat in silence. I'm not much of a talker around people, unless I'm with friends. Then I can't shut up (note: This includes random yelling, raving, occasional squeaks, etc.) When food's done, it's time for my room. The one place where I'm completely different from what everyone sees, no matter who they are. In case you're wondering, I'm a complete and total spaz.


	4. Flappin' Implosion

"Char! I just found out the coolest word ever!" Aimee called from across the familiar hallways of the Junior High. Now she had got me all intrigued. If she were to have said, "Never mind," right then, I would've blown up taking the whole world with me. Yes, even Newfoundland.

"What?" I asked all excited.

"Implosion." I stood in shock for a moment. Oh my flip on something during a blizzard! That had to be the funnest word I would ever hear! I mouthed out the piece of heaven.

"I know," is what Aimee let out. Implosion. I was in love with a word.

"A flappin' implosion," came out of my mouth in a hushed whisper. Now Aimee looked at me in the same way I had stared at her, or at least I think I looked like that due to the fact that I can't really see myself. That would be pretty awesome though. To be able to see yourself while looking at all your peers and fuzzy, woodland creatures. Man, I would dig that so much! Goll, now I have myself all excited for my future eye skill! Sweet!

Anyways, it took approximately thirty seconds for me to realize that if me and Aimee stayed in the hall any longer, math would put us in detention. I have never EVER had detention. I know. It's hard to believe, but my record is clean as a perfectionist's living room. If you don't know a perfectionist, their living rooms are clean. At least they have to be. Unless of course they lived with an anti-perfectionist and those two were fighting all the time.That would be a crappy household. Whatever.

"Math!" I somewhat shouted and both of us continued wallking to our shared class. We have almost no classes together. Just math. How come your closest friends never get a lot of classes with you? That always seems to be the case. I really hate it 'cuz my friends are the coolest people walking around Wyoming. Then there's my awesome friends from North Dakota, Utah, Idaho...you get the point. (note: If you don't, you're kinda stupid. When I say kinda, I meant to knock that out.)

We walked in fifteen seconds before the monotone bell sounded it's lock and the students were forced to remain seated and shut up, or else. _I wonder if this is how people in jail feel_, I thought to myself, _I wonder_. When I say 'thought to myself' I simply am trying to make the point that no one else will hear this thought because it's pointless and too stupid to be put into a normal conversation. Anyways, sitting and shutting up is my specialty, unless I'm with friends. Then I have ODD and talk more and more and more and more and more and more (and more and more and more effin' more!).

So while Brecht (the obese math teacher who loves to see his students in pain and with a failing grade)was giving a lecture on quadratic equation, my mind got the nformation it needed and drifted back to 'flappin' implosion.' What a fun phrase. Flappin' implsion on toast. Yeah, toast.

Toast. Toast reminded me of the first Bleach episode and before I knonw it, quadratic equation no longer exists in my world. Until the assignment when three people come to me for help (note: Remember the true eighth grade definition of 'help'.) and then I'm preoccupied. Then the mono-ring sounds once more to tell us it's okay to roam the halls for five minutes. I hate homework.


	5. Genus

It's really amazing how the most stupid and smallest thing can make two people laugh for the rest of their lives. I really can't understand why it happens, I just know that I love it when it happens, especially when it gets to the point where it doesn't matter who says it, it's just making you laugh. My most recent experience was in my room...

Otouto-chan (note: In case you don't remember, 'otuoto-chan' is Bryn, my teeny brother.) was explaining his book to me. He writes like Tolkein. In a way, it's kinda scary, but not really. I love what he writes. Anyways...I said;

"Brynny! That's so genus!"

"Char, you said 'genus'."

"Huh?"

"You said 'genus'. It should be 'genius'."

"Oh, oops."

"That's okay. It is a genus story isn't it?"

"Otouto-chan, now you said 'genus'."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did." We both started laughing hysterically. To the point where it was hard to breathe.

"Oh, we're so genus."

"So, so genus."

"We're the most genus people ever."

"You're more genus than I am Brynny."

"Don't lie onee-chan. You're beyond genus. You go to genus-_max_.

"That genus! Wow! That compliment was sure genus though."

"I know it was genus."

"Oh, genus times, genus times..." More hysterical laughter.

"I love genus!"

"We are genus-_extreme_!"

"Go genus, go genus, go genus."

"Go, go, go genus."

"Ge-ge-genus!"

"Woo! It's genus time!"

"Yay, genus!"

"You are genus."

"I'm genus?"

"So genus." Even more hysterical laughter.

"Are you genus?"

"You know I'm genus." We both sighed.

"Let's do a dialogue..."


	6. Idiot

Have you ever loved so much, you fear the day they may not be around you for five minutes? I have. I do...Kennie Loo, my dearest sister. This is the story of when she left the house to go to California over Christmas vacation. And that ,friends, is more than five minutes. That is two and a half long and depressing weeks, especially when you feel that the only thing important in your life is your sister; the mirror image of a mother you once had who happened to tragically die of cancer a few years earlier. But this is a story of more than just depression. It's learning that what you have around you should be noticed and not shoved aside to save room for one false obsession.

She had just left. I was sitting on my bed, doing absolutely nothing. Bored out of my wits because that's the way I was making my life. I didn't want to be happy. Kennie Loo was gone. I would be left alone in this cold world. Sure Bryn was here, but so what? I wanted my sister back. I took a piece of paper and stuck it to my wall (note: My dad would kill me if I really wrote on my wall.), took a pen and wrote 'Days of Misery'. On this chart, I would mark down the days I had been without my sister, kinda like jail guys do, if they do that...Anyways, it was all I felt like I could do. My darling, dearest Kennie Loo. Gone.

Yeah, before you start rolling your eyes- though I already have at the memory of my idiocy -you need to understand that all my attention is directed to my older sister. I've always looked up to her. Those cheesy, pathetic 'Who's your Hero?' elementary did, I put Kennie Loo down. Yeah, it's almost scary (if it isn't already). Guess what- scratch that almost. It is scary. I've controlled it somewhat, but not enough.

Anyways, I was alone, as forementioned. What would Kennie Loo think of my sitting on my bed, going mildly insane at my loss? She'd say I was an idiot, that's what. Suddenly I began to feel terrible.

"Um, Char?" Bryn said as he walked into my room through the joint bathroom. Why doesn't that door have a lock.

"Not now Bryn," I answered, annoyed that he would try to make me feel even a titch and tid better. My little brother began to walk out of the room, head hung barely enough for me to notice that I was being an idiot. I sat up.

"Hey Bryn?" I said. He stopped and looked at me. "Do you wanna do something?" That felt better.


	7. Late Night Anime

Seeing as how I have to wake up at six in the frickin' morning to leave for school, I need all the sleep I can get. Sleep's great anyway, whether the annoying weekdays or the relaxing weekend. I can't tell you how deep the relationship between me and my bed is. It's unreal how friendly we are.

Anyways, I share my cozy, cute green room with Jessie. The recently-turned-four-years-old stepsister that reminds me of a jelly blob who giggles at what normal people find annoying. She's got her cute sides too. Now, when Jessie is sick, she can't go two hours straight without waking up crying. She's my garaunteed midnight wake up call. Though 'midnight' isn't exactly the correct term. 'Two forty'five' is the most accurate.

At the forementioned time, Jessie began to cry her shining blue eyes out in broken sobs. My bloodshot, muddy-brown eyes shot open and I felt ready to murder. I stiffly rose from my bed, prepared to strangle the cause of my waking. A third of the way to my teeny step's bed, she stopped. I froze and sighed. Self-control, remeber, self-control. I walked lazily back to my bed and lay comfortably back down.

I envy anyone who can fall immediately back to sleep. I would kill for that talent. When I make attempts to go back to that bloody squirrel that haunts my every dream, I end up staring at my alarm clock prepared to ask the bright green numbers what there favorite movie is. Then I remember that they're making fun of me. It's a love-hate relationship.

Minute after flippin' minute passed ny and the most progress I made to falling asleep was closing my eyes for a few seconds. All I could do was stare into the darkness until I didn't realize I was staring anymore. My anger sanpped. Why couldn't I sleep!

This was so annoying! Could someone shoot me? That would at least make me happy. I think I might have screamed if the sudden realization that downloaded Bleach episodes were still waiting for me. I smiled slightly. It snapped my fury in half. Hehehe...That laugh may have been out loud, but I'm not quite sure.

Slowly I exited my room, without fully realizing what I was doing. I'll admit, I tripped more than twice on my way out and walking to my friendly technology. I slipped the headphones sitting by the machine over my ears. I was one stupid genius. Still am.


	8. Torture

I've never liked gym. Not once. Ever. Get the point? When I heard that we were starting a dancing unit I could've blown up taking the whole world with me. No way we could be doing what I hate most. I depise it more than the bloody, frickin' New York Yankees. Holy eff on a piece of toast! Shoot me down!

"All right," Mrs. Alworth (one of the four gym teachers who teaches dance with another gym teacher, Mr. Mountain.), "Girls line up on this line, Boys across from them."

I looked to Sam (NOT the horse fan) with a face of 'horrid realization'. She returned it with a look almost identical and a small laugh.

"No," she said quietly. I felt like screaming and running around the school, but I didn't. Obviously. I mean, seriously, who would? Not only would you look like a total idiot, but people may take you for insane. That could cause an abnormally large problem.

It felt like lining up to be shot as I stepped on that hideous cream colored line. Sam and I looked at each other once more. I twitched slightly. That was as far as I could go. Even if guys are idiots (note: Feminism rules!), I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings by showing their true inferiority. I'm not heartless.

Anyways, so it was time to dance. The jitterbug. Groan, mumble, and began to mildly panic. The jitterbug is a freakish and easy swing dance. Otherwise, swing dance is naturally easy and I'm just some flappin' implosion who's got a few issues that need to be sorted out. Probably not that terrible though...

I stepped forward because the lazy kid in front of me didn't feel like it. What a jerk. You're supposed to treat your superiors with respect! And girls! That's a double hit there!

As I tried my hardest to enjoy the terror and pain of the hour and half, I could only think that this unit was going to be the most hell I've ever experienced.


	9. I thought gym was bad

For the note. In case you are just a tidbit stupid and can't seem to understand

that I was not typing this in sience, I wasn't. Typing, I mean. I did that when I got home, okay?

Now, on with it.

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There's a point in every person's life where boredom can't even begin to describe their situation. Where the clock purposely shuts down and giggles in the most annoying manner at how desperate you are for that precious beautiful moment when the time you can finally leave your seat of glue has at last arrived. It never seems to come, does it. That really gets me ticked. I mean, really. If there's one thing I hate more than having to do nothing on my own free will, is when I have to sit and do nothing by force. Because there's nothing else to do and you've made sure of that fact at least fourteen times. It makes me want to take an AK47 and start blowing everything that I see to tiny itty bitlets. But, once you realize that option won't work due to the fact that you don't have a gun or notice that you have a heart and a little something come to be known as a consionce, you (like me) will probably decide to pass the long lonely hours by sighing, fiddling, wiggling your feet back and forth, or my own personal favorite, obserivng. Sure, you increase your boredom by reminding yourself of what fun you could be having instead of doing nothing and convincing yourself that's all there is, but either way, you're bored beyond proper reasoning.

I tend to be in those situations a lot. I'm in one right now as I sit in sience, writing this chapter of my somewhat wonderfully lived life. I can't even shudder because I declare that having too much fun in my life and that's not allowed as we sit and wait for the unit test to be over. Time is slowly being pulled along by a previously dragged lack of entertainment. Normally, I'd have fun in sience. I'm always preoccupied, usually with some lab. It's a very enjoyable class. But when you sit on a curving piece of plastic for what feels like four hours, you're as bored as you would be in math class (note: this is basically indicating that there are few classes that are fun. just in case you didn't know...) That's enough to kill. The boredom of math beats all other annoyingly tiring events that take place.

Anyways, I do all of the above options, hoping that time will go by a little titch faster, which it doesn't, and patiently sit. Oh look, two ways to find amusement. Sitting and fiddling. That tops off baseball and reading man. Though, the thought ran into my head like something on a something during Easter Friday and I realized that I was allowed to write. So that's how you're reading this. A brief summary is; I was allowed to write in sience class and decided to write a chapter of my life story.

Counting down, fifteen minnutes. Oh, it's moving. The clock is moving. I can't believe it, only, I'm too bored to do anything about it but let my heart stop and attempt to control my panicked breathing. (note: I tend to breathe really quickly a lot.) That's when the thought hits me that none of these things actually help. Killing myself may get me out of the situation, but what good will it do if I'm dead? Goll, I can be an idiot sometimes. Uh, yeah, sometimes...

So, at this point, if you haven't guessed, I'm tearing myself apart into tiny twit-sized pieces. Hurry my dear clock, hurry. 'Deep breath in Charlotte,' I think in my rotting mind (where else would I think it?), 'Just fiftee-' My thoughts are cut off as a gaze up at the clock again.

Ten minutes...time has graciously given me a quickly passed five minutes. I can't begin to describe how pounding the boredom of sitting in this bloody chair surrounding by a skematic desk is, though I've previously made that point. I guess that's all you can do when you're at an abnormal lack of intrest in what you're doing. Holy eff, why does time go so slow? I hate every implosionistic excuse for a minute or second or whatever the flick is passing me by like a piece of paper caught in my frickin' fingers. I'm twitching with the pain.

The clock at this point is even bored at laughing at me and has decided to leave me alone. I smirk at my somewhat victory, feeling my mind slowly dissolve into insanity. May the world never have to be in one of these situations...ever.

Five minutes. Panic and anxiety are now officially allowed. It's the seconds to the New Year. It's the months till Christmas. It's the bloody countdown until the end of the world. 'Make frickin' haste' is being repeated until my mind causes it to be a jumble of absolutely nothing. No wait, I lied. It's more one of the unsuccessfully made pancakes. You know, when you're flipping it and it turns into a ball of mush because you forgot to spray the pan. I hate that almost as much as the Yankees. Don't make me say hell's name again.

Just a few seceonds and 'boom, titiching' I'm out of here. I don't care if I'm going to american history next. Just get me out of this crap-pile. Can't take the test's silence anymore. Gotta leave.

BEEEEEEEEEP. Holy eff on flamatic toads. The bell was flippin deafening as I got out of my seat, retrieved all my tids of school stuff that isn't important enough to be named and left the classroom, ready to fall asleep. Groan, smudge, shoot me. I never want to be good at sience again. If I hadn't known the answers, I could've done the test until the very end. Oh frickin' well. It's over now. Oh crap, american history...


	10. Deal with it

**Note: **This story will be extremely short and fairly boring due to time shortage and the fact that I am currently suffering from the disease of writer's block...deal with it.

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It's amazing, all the little twits and tids you can do, when you don't realize it mind you, that make you abnormally satisfied. Just the night before, for instance, I was watching our new cat climb up the window screen. Well, actually, it belongs to my little step (Sammy), but still. The one climbing up the window loves me lots. Her names Storm, but she responds better to the name I gave her; Tohru. hehehe, suckers...

So, she likes to find new ways to escape the outdoors, but none of them work. Kennie Loo is allergic to cats, therefore, the cats aren't allowed in our household. Anyways, Tohru was climbing up the window screen of our dining room. I was eating...what was I eating...um...food, when I heard her start screaching. At first I thought Freddy (the boring dog) had caught his paw on his ear again and went to go kick him, but then I noticed the other black kitten (his name's supposed to be Midnight, but like Tohru, he responds better to the name I gave him, can you guess? Yup, Kyo.) and, because the two are never apart, I knew Tohru had to be nearby. I went by the window and boom! there she was. The small black cat had all four of her clawed paws against the window.

It looked like she was trying to be a spider they way she was crawling around. I laughed quietly.

"Tohru, Tohru, Tohru," I whispered grabbing the squirt bottle, filled the top with warm water. "You can't do that," I informed spraying the water on her. She fell to the delightful, burnette (not brunette for you idiots) deck and went running off with Kyo.


	11. Attack of the oven

Some people have a talent behind the stove and some don't. That's just the way things work. I'm kinda in the middle. My sister and my dad are the talented chefs, I don't remember what my mom's cooking tastes like. Screw the steps. Now my little otouto-chan...um, he...yeah. Kay, this is just how terrible his 'skills' are.

So, I was hungry, but I was also in the process of watching InuYasha with my step, Sammy, on the computer. You don't pass up InuYasha. Ever. It's like forgetting Bleach or Samurai Champloo. Something along those lines of glory. You get my point. Ooh, Fruits Basket counts too. Anyways, like I said, I didn't want to let go of InuYasha to heat up some soup. Yes, I was too lazy. I could easily do it now. Unless of course I wasn't hungry or I was falling asleep in the chair as the lights flashed in front of me. But that's not what I'm trying to say. What my point is, I was lazy. _Was_. Just making sure...

"Hey otouto-chan!" I called out from my seat, my eyes sticking to the computer screen, "Could you heat the soup up for me? It's really easy! Just put it on medium!" Bryn stopped for a moment and looked our direction. I could tell he was astonished by my question by the dazed look that reflected beneath the real player screen.

"I don't know how," was his stupid response. I fell into some unidentified sort of a coma. I pulled myself from the computer, remaining on the chair, of course.

"Brynny," I pushed, "You put the pot of soup on the stove and stir every now and then. When it tastes 'not cold' you put it in a bowl, and give it to me. See? Easy."

"Char!" he started to yell (note: I'm under the impression that he has anger management problems.), "I can't do it!" I rolled my eyes, feeling somewhat frustrated. I wasn't asking him to cook a gourmet meal, I was asking him to heat up soup. I had even given him the extremely simple instructions!

"Kay, we'll take it one step at a time. Turn the stove on," I calmly instructed. Bryn lost it.

"No!" he screamed, "It'll blow up!" (note: I'm not making any of this up. He really did believe that the stove would blow us all to bits.)

"Brynny! It won't blow up!" I almost laughed in a strange sort of way. I was frustrated yet amused at his stupid thought of us dying when he turned the stove top on.

"Yes it will!"

"Just do it!"

In an annoyed manner, he walked over to the stove and pressed the dial, preparing to turn it. He turned to fast and the flames burst a little bigger than normal before disappearing. Bryn screamed and jumped back. Gas began coming out of the stove where flames should've been. I rolled my eyes. Then I noticed I was angry.

"Go turn the bloody thing off!" I screamed, pointing at the stove. Bryn was near tears and shaking. _Oh gol_, I thought. Yeah, I know, I was being kind of a jerk. I've made up for it. I'm now close to the best sister in the world. There's still a titch of room for improvement.

I stormed over to the stove and turned it off, returning it on, but this time slowly. The small blue flames gently hissed. I put the pot of soup on top of them and grabbed a wooden spoon from the drawer next to me.

So, the point of this story is: Make food yourself or you'll traumatize your younger siblings.


	12. Deadly Stress

Lunchtime is the only time of the day, in school at least, that you can release the inner spaz inside. I go overboard on some occasions. Aimee and I may decide to begin yelling stupid things at each other. We got better by the end of the year...a little...

Anyways, it doesn't help when the friend of yours sitting next to you is writing your favorite book. And when I say 'favorite', I don't mean one of those sappy excuses to tell people that you find much enjoyment in the book but there are fifty billion other books before it. I mean 'favorite'. The Sword of Truth series is the only thing better. Now you know I'm being honest. Something's better. But just by a titch. That titch is the fact that I'm madly in love with the main character, Richard. Yes, Richard...hehehe.

Goll, I'm going off subject a lot aren't I. Well, continuing (hopefully), I was anxious as always to read the updates on Sam and Brendan (the other creative genius)'s story. Sorry, it doesn't have a title as far as I know, so it's got to stick with the name I gave it: My Friend's Book. Just put up with it, kay? Good. Anyways, Brendan had been writing the story, so Sam didn't know what was in the book, but, knowing how far in love I had fallen with their creation, she let me read first. The story got really intense. (note: If I were to retell it, I'd be violating the 'copyright' on it.) I don't know if everyone gives the same reaction to really, abnormally creepy parts come in during books, where the main character is...changing...(you'll just have to read it yourself once it's published to find out exactly what kind of change I'm referring to, won't you?), but I couldn't breathe. Seriously. The oxygen was not flowing in and out of my lungs, I was dying, okay! Dying!

I tried to relax, in my mind, and calmly thought, _All right Charlotte, it's just a book, just a...what kinda flappin' impossibilty of a schematic implosion in an asphyxiated bubble am I? JUST a BOOK! _Kay, thought calming wasn't working. Had to go to plan b: Freak out.

I'm not sure if this happens to every girl when something 'exciting' is going on, but my hands began to move repeatedly back and forth, as if trying to help me breathe. Of course, with how fast they were moving, it seemed impossible to even create air, rather than just stirring it up. The point is, I wasn't getting much air flow. It didn't help that one of the authors was now done reading what she had to continue writing. Sam was flippin' too.

We both exchanged a glance...(I think dots are the only thing that can truly express a meaningful pause)...(this was a long pause)...I let out a total Aimee squeal (note: her squeal is so positively unique that it has it's own name) and began to move my hands, indeed, a little faster. Sam started to write, not fast enough. One slow word after another slow word. She was trying to control the spazzing moment. I don't blame her for not writing as fast as I wanted her to. I don't think there is a soul who could've, actually.

So, here are the two freakers and everyone is staring at us with really wierd expressions. Personality-less implosions...can't they appreciate whenever something like this happens? Life doesn't give you many oppurtunities to be loud and somewhat annoying. You have to make them.

Anyways, Sam was under a minor writer's block. She kept yeling out to people to help her with sentences. She would give an example and BOOM! Kayla gave the answer. Kayla. For the record, she was playing around with each sentence but it really worked every time she said something. This went on all effin lunch period. Sam finished about five minutes before the bell, so basically, it was twenty-five minutes of paniced death. Yes, you can panic when you're dead. The other kind of dead. Um...yeah...


	13. Hermit Time

The worst experience to ever experience(note: that's fun to say) is being right by a pointless argument. How many have I gone through in my life? Well, starting November 26, you could no sooner count how many atoms of gas make up Jupiter. Does that help? Sometimes, when they go on for a really long, extremely long time, I forget what the fight was about and go back quietly into my room. Of course the fight continues, but at least it's muffled from my eardrums.

Instead of becoming the inner hermit I am, I decided while on the delightful computer to begin to write the meaningless fight going on behind the comfy black chair that I sit in. (note: the chair kinda reminds me of one of those big chairs that 'important' people sit in in cartoons and stuff and then they turn around all big shot with their fingers crossed and everything. Why fingers?) Anyways, this fight didn't need to happen and it shouldn't have happened, in fact, even now, I don't remember how, why, or when this argument began. So, you don't mind if I start in the middle, do ya'? You better not.

It starts where Bret goes running to the parental figures door and calling out in the most childish tone known to man, "Mom, Sammy flipped me off and called me the f-word!" (note: he really said f-word, kay?)

"No I didn't!" Sammy yelled back. For a second, I swore she was a he due to the fact that her voice went about two octives lower and she said the forementioned sentence like a California surfer-dude. Bret came running back to protest.

"Yes you did," he pressed, shaking his head, mouth hanging open. (note: you might be wondering how I know what he looked like because this was happening behind me, but Bret's only debate face is this one.)

"No," Sammy said, imitating her brothers, "I raised the finger next to it. And I called you a sucker. I just put the finger down while you were looking up. It was an illusion!" I have to stop typing...oh my eff! 'It was an illusion'! I hope you don't mind this outbreak but I just have to laugh at that. Kay, continuing.

I could tell just by the silence that Bret was rapidly shaking his head up and down, while slowly pushing it forward. Like a turtle. The sound of a hand hitting Bret came flowing into my brain. A brief silence, then the uplifting (note: when I say 'uplifting' I don't mean that my soul felt cleansed, I mean his voice rose slowly.) cry of something dying. His 'cry' voice is that of a baby's crossed with a bat scared by light. His quickly paced footsteps followed their familiar pattern to the 'door of sanctuary'.

"You're such a tattletell!" Sammy called to him. The he/she sounded like they came from hell or something dark and fiery. (note: can you have dark in fire? huh.)

Oh gol, this would never end. So, it's hermit time.


	14. The Finishing Touch

Well, everything has to end somewhere, just like a year. This story was a year. And I'm not sure if it's because the year has left me behind for me to see only bits and pieces and remember just feelings, or if I'm too preoccupied with what that year left me to do, but this is the end.

Though what you have read is nothing more than a laugh and a touch of annoyance, the year of eighth grade changed my life. I don't think I ever smiled that much since the death of my mom. That year I learned to accept and to realize that nothing can ever truly be wrong. I met the most amazing people you could ever set eyes on and I wanted to smile. I wanted to be happy. I had forgotten what that felt like.

And so, I leave you while I sit in the emptiness of my backyard, at the base of the hill. I'm sitting underneath a tree and sitting on an actually comfortable rock, and enjoying the breeze of a setting sun. It took a whole year to appreciate each one of these things, but the point is that there's no way I could live without this spot now. There's no way I could live without everything that has come in the chapters before this one.

The people you've read about have changed a life without knowing that they have. The moments in this story have become cherished forever because of them. How I could have ever lived without them, it's something I don't enjoy thinking about.

My last wish is that everyone can create moments amazing enough to write about. Because that means that you're truly and sincerely happy. And you'll never want to let your life go. Whether you have to dance in the rain or sit for hours under the stars- both of which giving you the happiest feeling in the world, try it sometime -find your purpose for living. Because everyone has one. Mine is to laugh with friends, look up to my sister, and spray cats with my Bonsai tree's spray bottle.

Well, the sun has almost completely vanished and it's my belief that something you have started writing cannot be written in parts, so I really am ending now as my handwriting is going up and down, small and big because my nose is scraping the page trying to scribble this all down as fast as I can. And my hand just started going faster...

Ja!


End file.
